Fishy Fiasco
by WhatBecomesOfYou
Summary: It's an interesting day in Las Vegas when a decidedly non-watery rain begins to fall.


**TITLE**: The Fishy Fiasco  
**AUTHOR**: WhatBecomesOfYou  
**FANDOM**: CSI: Las Vegas  
**PROMPT**: Fortean Rain  
**RATING**: PG  
**WORD COUNT**: 1329  
**SUMMARY**: Rain is in the forecast for Las Vegas, of a decidedly non-watery sort.  
**SPOILERS/WARNINGS**: None. Set sometime prior to season eight, but no specific spoilers for anything.  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: Written for paranormal25 on LiveJournal. The definition of fortean rain is "Any rain that contains bizarre objects that normally do not fall from the sky, such as frogs, stones, blood, etc."

* * *

The low drone of the television reporter's voice served as a comforting backdrop to the end of another long shift. The cases had been solved, or filed away to be worked on later, and the crime scene investigators of Las Vegas were huddled around the coffeepot, sipping what remained of the pot they had made earlier in the shift, discussing such banal trivialities as sports scores and plans for the next day they had off.

"And in other news, reports are coming in just now that _fish_ are raining over Las Vegas," the anchorwoman said, attempting to keep a straight face as she read off the teleprompter. "No injuries have been confirmed at this time."

Sara looked over at the television, her attention piqued. "_Fish_?" she asked, almost incredulously. "Since when does it rain _fish_? It barely even rains _period_."

"Well, it generally _doesn't_," Catherine said, her eyes following Sara's line of vision, as the reporter shifted to talking about a school in Henderson with a boiler explosion. "This is odd."

"What's odd?" Greg asked, walking into the room and grinning. "Couldn't help but overhear."

Warrick gestured to the television. "The news said it's raining fish."

"Rain? Fish? _Here_?" The look of confusion and horror on his face spoke for everyone. The others nodded and blankly stared at the television, until the news ended without another word on the fishy fiasco gripping their city.

As the group broke up to head home for the day and walked out into a normal Las Vegas morning, they cautiously looked around the parking lot. No fish here…

* * *

Sara gripped the steering wheel of her car tightly; her knuckles nearly white, and eased it out of the parking spot gently and onto the roadway. She wasn't crazy about the thought of running over fish in the roadway. Fish were perfectly nice animals, and if they were still alive, she didn't want to be the cause of their death at all.

Swerving out of the way as she saw a carp flopping helplessly in the middle of the road, she let out a slight groan. Was her own life worth putting on the line for the fish? She pondered the thought as she eased onto a nearby road. She made a mental note to get out the next time she saw a fish on the side of the road. If she could save just one fish from being road kill…it'd be worth it.

As luck would have it, she didn't have to wait much longer, as she saw a fish lying on the sidewalk next to her. Stopping the car and getting out, she scooped the fish off the sidewalk. "You're coming with me," she said to the fish, placing it on the car seat next to her. "Time to go to the nearest restaurant and get a cup of water," she thought to herself, turning the car around and heading to a nearby diner she had just passed.

* * *

Warrick glanced up at the sky. "This _can't_ be good," he muttered, aiming his car directly at home. He had been planning to stop for breakfast, but with the newest developments, the only safe course of action would be to go straight home. "The only thing that should fall from the sky is water…" He thought over that statement for a minute, before shaking his head. "Water…and _money_," he mentally amended.

Remembering stories his grandmother had told him when he was growing up, of the bad things that befell cities visited by unnatural rain – hadn't one of the plagues been something with hail and fire? – he gritted his teeth and clamped his hands onto the steering wheel tighter. Better to be safe indoors, at home, in bed, than out in the streets on a day like this.

* * *

Nick let out a brief yawn as he wove his way through the streets. People were standing around, both on the sidewalks and in the middle of the street, looking at the sky, their mouths wide open in shock – or perhaps fear.

It _would_ be interesting to see how the people of Las Vegas reacted to the strangest of occurrences. Dayshift would probably see a spike in caseload. If it didn't stop raining before that night, their next shift could be hectic, and he'd need all the sleep he could get. It could be a long night ahead.

* * *

Catherine let her thoughts wander as she drove home. Lindsey should be off at school, and the house would be blissfully quiet. She could soak in a long hot bath; wash the grime of the night's crime scenes off her…why couldn't it be raining _men_ instead? At least then the rain would be useful to people other than sushi restaurant owners.

Looking out the car windows, she saw that the traffic was jammed on the other side of the street and she saw a car that had slammed into a light pole. It looked slightly familiar, but, as she reasoned to herself as she turned off to head toward home, a _lot_ of people in Las Vegas had similar cars to each other. Even one of the other mothers at Lindsey's school had the same car she did.

She shrugged and turned back to focusing on her own traffic situation, which wasn't much better. All she knew was that she did _not_ want to turn out like the person over there.

* * *

Greg sped home as fast as he could. When he got there, he smiled as he grabbed a small frying pan from inside his kitchen and leaned out over his balcony. "It's going to be a fish fry at the Sanders _casa_ today," he said with a grin, watching as three fish splattered into his frying pan. "Cheaper than going to the grocery store."

Escaping back into his kitchen just in time to avoid being hit on the head with another fish, he smiled as he cooked. Fresh fish fried on Friday. The only way it could be better is to share it with friends, and he knew from previous experience that none of them would be all too pleased to receive phone calls to impromptu fish fries. Well. Not that he had tried it with that _specifically_…but he remembered the salsa escapades of the previous spring…

* * *

As each of the crime scene investigators were waking up later in the day, ready to begin another long shift at work, they each turned on the television to find out if there had been any updates.

"No explanation has been given for this morning's rain of fish," the reporter said, staring straight into the camera. "For now, it is another one of this earth's great mysteries."

_Click_.

* * *

"So, everyone survived the fish today?" Catherine asked, surveying each member of the team as they walked into the lab.

"Yep," Greg said with a dreamy look on his face. "They were delicious."

"You did _not_!" Sara exclaimed, whipping around to face him. "You ate the fish?!"

"Free fish on my balcony, how could I resist? You should have been there, Sidle. I would have saved you an entire fish."

She shot him an angry glare and folded her arms over her chest. "_I_ saved a fish today, named him Gill."

"Clever," Nick said, shaking his head.

"And instead of being my dinner, he'll be my pet."

"You know anything about raising fish?" he replied, laughing a little.

She shrugged. "It can't be _too_ hard if people do it all the time. So how did you spend your day? Dreaming of grilling a salmon steak with Greg?"

"Actually, no. I went straight home and slept through it all."

Warrick clapped a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Smart," he said. "Nothing good can come of fish rain."

Grissom rounded the corner, holding a stack of case files in one hand. "Time to get to work," he said, glancing over the team. "Nick, Sara, there's a 419 at the Bellagio…"

-_fini_-


End file.
